


Your Lover Sleeps on Silk Sheets

by theJuniorRoyals



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Attempted Murder, M/M, Organized Crime, but it's him - Freeform, jeonghan isn't explicitly mentioned, spooky halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theJuniorRoyals/pseuds/theJuniorRoyals
Summary: Wonwoo gets an invitation to a black tie event. No harm done in that; until they try to murder him (and nearly succeed).





	Your Lover Sleeps on Silk Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> a new fic! and for halloween! if you are reading this on halloween, congrats cause the ending takes place on halloween. if not, thats cool thats cool. coming back to post after months, feeling motivated again, and i really hope you guys like this one! much love <3  
> (sorry for any awkward grammar errors or stupid spelling mistakes)

One by one, Wonwoo slides the rings off of his fingers and bounces them around in his partially closed fist. He stares blankly out of the window, watching the cars race past each other, watching lights go out in the opposite buildings one at a time. He closes his hand around the metal jewelry and holds one up, family crest engraved in solid gold. Twenty-four karats. It glinted in the mood lighting high above Wonwoo’s head, the golden gleam reflecting into his eyes.

Late nights are seen often in this household, sleep escaping Wonwoo most of the time, but he does nothing about it. He sleeps when he can but if he doesn’t need to, he won’t. He can sleep when he’s dead.

He lolls his head back, feeling the collar of his suit jacket scratch the back of his neck, and he rolls his shoulders back, stretching out as much as he could. It’s true he doesn’t sleep often, but now is one of the rare occasions that those late nights and few hours of sleep are catching up to him. Wonwoo has better things to be doing than sleep, but he knows when his body needs it. He doesn’t fight. He peels his suit jacket off slowly.

Wonwoo turns away from the window and is greeted with the expanse of his home. Holding the suit jacket over his left arm, he strides his way over to the wall next to the windows and hits a button on the control panel. His eyes slide up the length of the windows, watching the curtains slide themselves closed, shutting his fifty-story home away from the rest of the world.

He trudges his way up the stairs, switching off lights in the hall as he makes his way to the master bedroom. His eyes grow heavy and his feet become harder and harder to drag through the house.

Reaching the threshold of his bedroom, he sees his lover asleep already, laying on his left side, half of his body concealed by the sheets. Wonwoo sighs.

He could either get right into bed, discard his clothes and leave them for when he is no longer tired, to clean them, or he could save himself the later time and struggle by putting them away now, prolonging the time to get into bed. He made the decision, and dropped his suit jacket on the ground, released the rings onto the dresser top and hastily unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it on top of the jacket.

The sheets were cool to the touch, making him sigh in relief. He reached over, sliding his arm over the thin waist of the man next to him, pulling him closer, breathing into his neck.

Wonwoo doesn’t sleep often, but when he does, Junhui is always waiting for him.

“Well, why isn’t it here already?” Wonwoo rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “It doesn’t matter that I’m not ready yet, he should be down there waiting.”

Junhui watched as Wonwoo paced on the hardwood flooring, hand up to his ear, call going on. Wonwoo could see his eyes following him every time he looped around. Part of him didn’t want to stress out his lover, but Wonwoo knew the call was nothing serious. Chauffer issues. Who was going to get fired next?

Junhui finally looked away, and it made Wonwoo relieved, albeit not that much. Junhui had that aura to him. Pretend things are okay, but fail at making it look like they are. Wonwoo wants to pull him out of that habit, open Junhui up more to him. He has always failed, but it doesn’t deter him from trying again.

He turned to the window, the bustling day life streaming below him. He could see the sleek black car in front of the building. He sighed.

“Whatever, it’s fine it’s here now I suppose. I’ll be down in a moment.” He hung up the phone and grabbed his suit jacket from where it was slung over the back of the chair adjacent to where Junhui sat. He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of Junhui’s head and grabbed his keys.

“I’ll be back around 5. Will you be here?”

Junhui shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “I don’t think so today. I have to stay late at school. Student government kind of shit.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I’ll have dinner ready?”

Junhui shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ll be out late. Thank you, though.”

They held eye contact for another moment, before Wonwoo turned and headed out the door, locking it behind him. He was silent on the elevator ride down, watching his reflection in the glass panes as he descended to ground level. Metaphorically, a scary place to be.

He adjusts his cuffs as he exits, making his way over to the driver who was holding the door open for him. Wonwoo nodded and entered the car, pulling his phone out of his pocket before getting settled.

Wonwoo’s life was complicated. He doesn’t know how to describe himself; he never did and was almost sure he will never be able to. He’d always been a quiet kid. He had one friend throughout the entirety of public school until he graduated, lost touch with him and forgot he existed. Wonwoo enrolled in an ivy league, which was apparently a big deal to other people, but he saw it as just another step closer to his fate.

His father owned an insurance company. Past tense owned, since he no longer sees head position. His father doesn’t see anything anymore really, as he died in a tragic accident almost two years ago. Wonwoo wanted the position of CEO. He had to fight for it, his father was fair when it came to competing and there was a line of people wanting that spot. Wonwoo didn’t get to where he is now because of nepotism. He got there because he was fit for it. He deserved it.

He met Junhui in college. The boy was quiet but enticing to Wonwoo and the two fit together like puzzle pieces. It’s been five years since they met. Parts of Wonwoo thinks that Junhui was there because Junhui was materialistic, but it was unlikely. The man was never like that, had never been. Wonwoo was reassured by the fact that Junhui supported him, and was there to see him to sleep every night.

It was like a breath of fresh air whenever he walked through the front doors of the building. The tall, sleek, glass building was really everything Wonwoo had known his whole life, grown up in this building, knows almost every floor. Despite this, not everyone knows who he is. He kept quiet as a child, teen and young adult running throughout this building. Parts of him as a child never wanted to be there. He knew it wasn’t normal for a ten-year-old to be sitting in his father’s office during his free time. Wonwoo regrets this now, but as a twenty-year-old, Wonwoo realized that that was where the resentment for the man came from.

He barely knew his father growing up. Maybe he inherited the hatred from his mother. He wished he could have become like her instead.

He doesn’t know the man that used to sit where he sat. All he knows is his blood runs in Wonwoo’s veins and he shared the same surname and he was the reason Wonwoo has only ever known expensive cars and designer clothes. He was the reason that Wonwoo never lived as a typical child would.

But this was his position now. He sat at the black desk behind the vast panes of glass wondering about the life of people on the streets. Wishing for a moment to be down there.

Wonwoo scrolled through his phone, bouncing around in the back of the car on the way back to his home. He was searching through suggestions that his agent had sent him for necklaces for Junhui, he had it in mind and had been meaning to buy one, sending someone else to search for a bunch and he would pick out just one.

The suggestions were alright, but he knew she could do better than what she chose. He typed a quick message back and shut his phone, thanking the driver quickly when he stepped out of the car and up to the elevator.

He remembered Junhui said he wouldn’t be home. It was a bit unusual as he doesn’t stay late that often, but not unusual enough for Wonwoo to question it. He was sure he would be home before Wonwoo called it in for the night—at 3 AM.

Wonwoo had no thoughts running through his head when he picked up the cardboard box sitting in front of his door, expecting it to be more shit Junhui bought online, but it did occur to him that all of the packages are kept at the lobby, where Wonwoo gets the mail every night. He stared at it in his hands, it was no bigger than the standard size of paper and an inch and a half thick, no return address anywhere on the box. What finally sparked the running questions was why it was addressed to Wonwoo.

He looked both ways down the hall, knowing that was a dumb move as he was the only resident on the whole floor, but now he felt there was something odd to this. He sighed and opened his door.

He started at the package under the bright light of the kitchen table. He wanted to ask Junhui about this but the boy was not home, and if he called him he was sure Junhui would not answer as he said he had student government to attend to. He debated on opening it, or letting it sit, waiting for Junhui.

It was taped along the top opening of the box. Wonwoo’s name was written in black ink, sitting on the right side of the opening slit. He knew he shouldn’t open this box. He knew of the risks that could mean; detonating a bomb, the parcel could be laced with a drug, or it could just be someone fucking with him.

He also knew that by opening this box, and if it was something like that mentioned, it would be incredibly stupid of him. Which is why he decided to open it.

The metallic sound of the knife being pulled from the block was clear in the air as Wonwoo grabbed the handle to slice the tape open. He peeled back the folds to find an envelope, a single, white envelope with only ‘Wonwoo’ on the front, and underneath that, a black mask that was enough to cover his eyes, Colombina style, minus the décor. Just a simple black.

He held the mask up at arm’s length, scrunched his eyebrows, and opened the envelope.

Jeon Wonwoo, his name was written in a messy scrawl, you are the VIP of this special night. Black tie, bring the mask. No later than 9, followed by an address. He threw the envelope on the counter.

This could not be a business thing. If it were, Wonwoo would have received the invite at work, or through the actual mail, and he would know about it. None of those things held true, however, so Wonwoo was simply puzzled.

He looked at the clock. It was 5:27 PM. He had enough time to go if he wanted to. He didn’t know if that was a stupid idea or if it could have turned out to be the greatest thing he had ever experienced. He knows he certainly didn’t experience enough shit like this in college, and he grew up too fast. He struggled to enter the college kid mindset, and ultimately came to the conclusion that if he were a naïve college boy, he would take the invite and go to this event.

It was a bad idea by good judgement, but Wonwoo was far too intrigued now to say no. He was too intrigued to pretend like he never got this invitation.

When the time finally came, he dressed in the blackest suit he had, keeping his hair flat against his forehead, mask in hand. He personally called his driver, keeping his agent’s ears away from this new situation as to avoid unnecessary questions. They left to the location, Wonwoo’s stomach in his throat.

The building looked like an old museum. Wonwoo had never seen this building before, he didn’t know it existed, he didn’t know what was inside. He thanked the driver and positioned his mask before he exited, decided to approach the two guard-like men that had just let others with masks in.

The wind chill sent shivers down his spine, the sun far below the horizon. He took a deep breath in and walked forward.

He held out the invitation to see if it would be any means of access to this event. The two guards both looked at the invitation, shared a look with each other, then stepped side.

“Through that door to the left.” His deep voice directed Wonwoo, and he took small steps to the door. He opened it, and looked back once before it fell shut. The guard that spoke to him was watching him, but the view was cut off as the door slammed, and a buzzing fluorescent light shone. He turned around, and was met with stairs.

Spiral stairs going downwards, so the only way to see what was down there was to descend. He had a second thought. Should he go down there? He could very well die down there. Scarily though, that was not enough to stop him.

He took slow steps, and the tap of his soles echoed on the walls. The buzz of the lights annoyed him and he found himself wondering when he would reach the bottom.

Wonwoo was sure he looped that staircase five times before he started to hear something, music, and it sounded like waltz. He furrowed his brows and continued down the stairs, wondering what kind of event he just walked into.

He stood behind another door, hearing the music clearly, knowing now if he just pushed this door open, he would be welcomed to it. He inhaled, and took a step forward.

Immediately, his eyes maneuvered up to the high ceilings. Intricate paintings on the ceilings depicting angels and gods, he concluded he was indeed in some type of museum. The room was vast, and flooded with people in similar dress as he; it was hard to walk with the amount of people crowded in this room.

There were marble pillars lining both lengths of the room, and Wonwoo did have to make his way to the middle to see everything better.

Chatter and waltz filled the air, but no one was dancing, simply walking around and chatting, and Wonwoo even heard clips of conversations that concerned him. Mentions of revenge, getting back at those who backstabbed them, and people laughing at stories having to do with things Wonwoo never thought people would laugh at. He was stood in the middle of the floor, frozen in place, looking around. There was a stage directly in front of him, at one of the lengths, and at the other was a grand staircase, but Wonwoo was not at all curious to know where it went up to.

There were so many people, he could barely breathe. His face itched under that mask, which he did notice others wearing, so he wasn’t alone in that. But he was anxious. He had no idea where he was. This was a bad idea after all.

The music cut off quickly. The room fell silent in a beat. Everyone turned towards the stage, and Wonwoo only did the same out of not wanting to look like an outlier. There was a man up there, slick suit with white gloves, Phantom of the Opera type masks covering half of his face, long hair touching base at his shoulders. He tapped the mic. No one in the crowd spoke over him.

“Long time in the making. One by one they will step down. Earth is not the final step, nor is that which lies directly underneath our feet.” Wonwoo was captivated. He heard the breathing of himself and those around him. He could not look away. “The final destination…”

He lifted his arms and spread them apart, and Wonwoo was so enticed he didn’t realize that people had backed away slowly from the center, and he was left standing. He realized too late, and everyone was watching him.

“…is Hell.”

Someone came behind Wonwoo and ripped his mask off, making his face whip to the right in horror. He could feel that there was no longer the plastic on his face, and he could feel the stares. He was no longer anonymous, and he hated it. A light shone onto him from overhead, he faced the person on the stage, eyes squinted, trying to identify the person, but the spotlight was blinding him.

“The son!”

There was another man on the stage that Wonwoo only noticed right at the moment, he stood up quickly as Wonwoo was announced and revealed. He recognized neither of them. He turned to look at the crowd, and some of them were closing in. He could feel his throat closing. He could feel panic rising in his chest.

“Jeon Wonwoo, you can sit at the right hand of your father where you both belong.”

Wonwoo turned to the right to escape but was met face to face with a man who delivered his fist into the side of Wonwoo’s face. Wonwoo stumbled and fell, not expecting the blow, holding his hand up to the side of his face. From the ground, he watched upwards as people closed in on him, and he scrunched his eyes and cried out in pain when a kick was sent directly to his stomach.

He tried to stand, but a hand on his shoulder shoved him back down and kicked him again, and his brain worked desperately to focus, and to get him the hell out of there.

Targeted crime. Attempted murder. These people wanted Wonwoo dead, like his father.

He flung himself up, dodging fists and hitting back, ramming his shoulders into oncoming people, sending them flying backwards, using them through the crowd like a battering ram. Wonwoo threw punches of his own, putting the self-defense he learned years ago to the works, some of it not turning out like he planned, but it working overall.

People were grabbing his clothes, holding him down, forcing him to stay in place as they beat him, and Wonwoo was terrified that if he didn’t fight back, they would literally beat him to a pulp. He had to get up. He had to get out.

He shoved himself up and forced through the crowd, and he made headway, running as fast as he could through people, not stopping for anything in his way. He staggered and tripped and fumbled but was forced backwards again with a firm grip on his collar, choking him, yanking him backwards off of his feet. A punch was sent to the right side of his face, making him dizzy, lose all of his energy, not wanting to get up. A particularly hard blow to the left temple sent the back of his skull crashing into the floor, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his vision went black; he could feel the air leave his chest every time the tip of a shoe was wedged in between his ribs.

“Let me get at him,” A grunt from the crowd near him snapped him to reality, and he realized at this exchange was his chance to escape. The men traded off quickly, but Wonwoo moved faster as he sent his knee flying into the groin of the man who had just mounted him, and Wonwoo ducked and ran. He bodied people left and right, desperate to get back to the door, to get into the fresh air where there would be witnesses of his murder, because everyone down here only conspired against him.

As he was running to freedom, a hand grasped his shoulder and he cursed at all the gods who allowed him to be there, knowing he was going to get beat down again. He could feel his face throbbing and he knew his own blood was running down his face and pooling on his (expensive) suit, but he needed to run. He tried to get out of this person’s grip, but they seemed to be leading him away. He followed, desperate.

This person led him to the back, he was still getting jostled around but he was thrown into a room with a door, the other person shut it behind him. He could hear people trying to rip the door open for their life, but he was locked in, he was safe. He heard yelling, commotion, and a voice.

“He shut himself in there! I was going to take care of that fucker myself!”

Wonwoo backed up and hit a solid wall. He slid down, trying to catch his breath. His face burned, his back ached, he could feel warm blood sliding over his lips, taste it on his tongue. He needed to get out before the found a way in. He felt around blindly for something to escape by, there were shelved and the door that let him in. No way in hell was he going back out there.

In a beat, he realized what had just happened. He was helped. Someone had been dragging him through the crowd, unnoticed, somehow, helping him escape. Whoever it was, bless their soul, thought Wonwoo belonged there just as much as Wonwoo himself did. That person, whoever they could be, potentially saved Wonwoo’s life, contributed to this life or death situation. In this mess of a crowd, of those lunatics who were all about to commit murder, at least someone had a head. He sighed in exasperation and tried to stand, using the wall for support.

He found a light switch, but he debated turning it on as there was a crack under the door, they could all tell if he turned it on. There were still people surrounding the door. He had to get creative.

He ripped off his suit jacket, which made his muscles burn but he fought through it. He shoved his jacket as close to the crack as he could, blocking the light from escaping, and he turned it on.

Squinting, Wonwoo could see shelves surrounding him. Was he trapped here? Was he really going to die in this place? He panicked, there had to be a way out, there had to be—

In the ceiling was a panel with slots in it, and Wonwoo recognized it immediately. A vent.

He wasted no time with climbing up the shelves and knocking the panel out of place, pulling himself up into it. His limbs ached and shook with all of the weight he was pressing onto them, he could barely see as it was due to his already swelling eyes. It was dark, and he felt his body for his cell phone, which, miraculously, he still had on him. He shone the light down the vent, which was only one way, and so he headed forward, hoping this would lead to an exit, praying for it to.

Hunched over like this in the tight vent caused him to cramp up quickly, but what pushed him forward was the fact that he was going to find another exit, because going back was in no way an option.

The foundation of this vent was in no way solid, but Wonwoo wasn’t about to say fuck it and turn around, they beat him up well enough back there and he doesn’t regenerate at an inhuman pace, so he pushed onward.

He coughed hard, sucking in air, desperate to regain his breath. His arms were trembling hard while holding the weight of his upper body, and his forearms screamed at him to lay down in this vent, stop moving, it hurts. He ignored it, he needed to get out.

He came to a fork in the road. He could go left, which, if he was paying any attention, was back in the direction of the deadly mosh, and right could possibly be the outside of the building. He took a deep breath in and headed right.

Luckily, after only a few minutes of crawling (albeit at a slow pace) he reached another vent. He peered through the slots, trying to see if anyone was down there, anyone who would grab him and proceed to finish what the others started. He watched for a minute, giving anyone time to cross his barrier of sight, but nothing. He placed his phone down and lifted the grate, sliding it slowly to the opposite side of where he sat.

The drop was far, but enough to where Wonwoo could fall and get back up, hopefully. He stuck his head further down to make sure no one was waiting for him to appear from the ceiling, and once he deemed himself in the clear, he maneuvered his body so his legs wen first, and then pushed off and made a somewhat steady landing. His knees and shins stung from the impact but he stood up quickly, looking both ways before heading to an exit sign on the wall.

Out of habit, but also out of fear, he walked lightly down the hallway, keeping his foot step echoes to a minimum, racing to the door.

Reaching the exit, he grabbed the handle of the door and pried it open, and what he saw made him feel nauseous.

The door led to one landing on the spiral staircase that he had entered on.

He knew where this staircase led to—it led to the door with the guards, and if the guards see him run out, he was sure they would grab him and force him back in, or they could just do the job quick and easy. He had no ultimate choice, and he leapt onto the stairs and headed up.

After the third loop his legs burned but he pushed through, finally making it to the top door, he shoved his way through. Straight ahead, he could see the door the guards let him through. He knew if he were going to escape, he would need to be fast, and in his condition, it would be a miracle if he outran the guards. He took a deep breath. He really had no choice here. Gulping, he sprung forward and ran directly at the door, pushing it outward.

The air was cool on his tack skin and it make his eyes water, but he ran as fast and as hard as he could, stopping at nothing in his way. He turned to look back once, gauge how much time he had until one of them grabbed him and pulled him back in, but there was no one behind him. The guards weren’t there. He slowed down, he could feel his pulse all over his body. His legs shook and his head throbbed and his breathing was harsh, yet he still turned back and headed towards the car, surprised to see the driver still waiting for him.

He threw the door open, shocking the driver, slammed it shut, and declared, “Drive. Don’t ask.” Before sinking into his seat. He heard the car start and felt the vibrations as he drove off, not saying anything. Wonwoo pressed his head into the headrest, desperate for the pounding to leave his body. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he went lax, passing out in the backseat of car.

He knows he didn’t bring himself inside his house last night, he remembers nothing after entering the car and passing out. Wonwoo knows for sure he was not the one who walked himself to the elevator, up fifty flights and into his bed.

But Junhui was sure, however.

“Wonwoo?” Wonwoo could not open his eyes for the life of him. Some kind of force was sitting all of its weight on his eyelids and no matter what struggle, there was certainly no opening them to look at Junhui. Wonwoo tried his best at a grunt in response.

“Wonwoo, can you hear me?” Another grunt. “What the fuck happened to you? I got a call from your driver and he said that you needed help as soon as possible and I come down to see what’s going on and you’re passed out, beaten and bloody in the back seat?”

Wonwoo, instead of saying anything in response, simply tried to sit forward, but Junhui’s hands on his shoulder only forced him back down.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo tried, but it came out slurred and raspy, but Junhui received the message.

“What led up to this, how do you not know what happened to you?”

“There was a package at the door.” Wonwoo sighed out. Junhui had put a cold pack on his forehead, and he was currently melting into the sensation. “It was for me, some kind of party. So, I went. And everyone there wanted to kill me.”

Junhui said nothing, and seeing how Wonwoo’s eyes were most likely swollen shut, he was not able to open them to see his expression. Wonwoo wanted to sleep forever, and Wonwoo never sleeps.

“Why would you do that, that was so stupid of you.” Junhui got up from the side of the bed, laving Wonwoo alone. Wonwoo reached his arm out, trying to keep him close, trying to grab him and pull him back.

“I have to go to school. I’ll be back later tonight. Your agent is coming if you need her. Please don’t try to get up.”

Wonwoo reached out lamely one last time, knowing Junhui was not in reach but wishing he was. For some reason, he wanted Junhui next to him right now more than he ever did. He felt alone as soon as he heard the door shut, knowing it was going to be a long five hours before he came back to see him.

Wonwoo sighed. What would have happened if Junhui were not up here to help? Would Wonwoo have woken up on his own, still in the suit form the night before, still covered in blood? Would he have woken up at all?

The previous night feels like a nightmare. A nightmare that causes Wonwoo to wake up in the middle of the night and try his hardest to go back to sleep, but the traces of the dream are still lingering around the edges. Times like that he likes to curl up next to Junhui. He curses the school he is enrolled in for taking him away.

He wonders how angry his agent is. He wonders if she doesn’t think he is worthy of the CEO spot that he rightfully earned. Therefore, if he rightfully earned it, he sure as hell is worthy. He deserves it.

But CEOs don’t do stupid shit, like attend a party in an underground museum that they had no clue was even going on. And then proceed to get beat the shit out of. Was Wonwoo worthy? Or did he just want to do stupid shit and live the life he never was able to?

Truth be told, Wonwoo was never the kind of person who liked to make food a whole bunch. He always took pride in the fact that he had people around him constantly that would do that for him, because the effort, to him, was not worth the end result. He prizes Junhui for doing that for him, he knows the man has a knack for cooking and happily does it whenever Wonwoo asks, or is too lazy to go out of get food.

He woke up again some time as the sun was setting, he could smell a spice in the air, his mouth watered immediately. His body still ached with the beatings and his eyes couldn’t open the entire way, but the ice helped the swelling go down, and he was pumped full on enough Vicodin to where he could move without feeling it in all of his muscles.

He groaned as he tried to sit up but managed to do so, cracking his eyes open as much as he could before walking towards the bathroom before going down to the kitchen.

Flicking the light on, he felt his heart leap at the sight of his own face. He was barely recognizable.

He had purple bruises littered against both cheekbones, the right side of his face extending more downwards with the color, and his right eye was black and swollen. His left eye he could open slightly more than the right, but the color looked no better. There was dried blood in his nose, he could see it crusting between the cracks in his lips, and when he ran his tongue over them, he could taste the copper. There was a deep cut on the left side of his bottom lip, extending to almost his chin, one that he does not remember feeling, but doesn’t doubt where it came from.

He gingerly lifted his shirt to check out his ribs, and he should not have been surprised at what he saw. Dark blue and purple bruising, it looked like he had to have broken a rib, but he only felt sore. The bruise looked so gruesome, he almost had to peel his eyes away. Looking at it now, he could feel the sting of the kick. He could feel the shoe being lodged between his ribs. He could feel the way he was stomped on, the way those heavy steps over his body took the air out of his chest.

Wonwoo dropped the hem of his shirt, not needing these memories to come back to him. He sighed, flicked the light off, and slowly started down the stairs.

He knew it was Junhui in the kitchen, as his agent already left earlier when he was asleep and it was past 6 o’clock at this point.

His hands gripped the railing as he stood over the staircase, realizing this would take a lot more effort than he bargained for. He took shaky steps down each stair, going slowly, hoping with all of his might that he doesn’t slip and fall and cause any more damage to his decrepit feeling body.

The floor creaked on the last landing and it caused Junhui to turn around, watching him from the kitchen, putting the utensils down and rushing over to Wonwoo.

“Why did you get up? I told you to stay.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “You told me to stay this morning. You didn’t say stay when you got home.” Junhui sighed but said nothing, fulling expecting Wonwoo to be this stubborn, especially while he is in the process of some intense healing.

“Fine. Come to the kitchen. You can keep me company while I cook.”

The two hobbled over to the kitchen, Junhui supporting Wonwoo’s weight over his left shoulder. Wonwoo was set against the counter, he stood there watching Junhui continue his ministrations in the kitchen.

Watching Junhui, Wonwoo noticed how he never fumbles in his movements. He executed his movements without any sense of regret. Wonwoo can’t remember the last time Junhui regretted something that he did. Wonwoo was envious of this. Wonwoo doesn’t speak out on those regrets, but he knows he has them.

Junhui was quiet. Junhui had always been quiet, but not quiet in a way that he was afraid of speaking out in fear of being judged; he was not quiet in a way where he was afraid of taking the first step in fear of falling. Junhui didn’t care. Junhui had been scarred by past events that there was no point in fearing the future. He was scarred enough, what was a little more bruising to a beaten soul?

Wonwoo wonders what part of Junhui exactly did he fall for. It wasn’t the way that Junhui won him over with his words, Junhui was kept to himself, but he opened up around Wonwoo. Wonwoo still doesn’t know why Junhui chose him, and not someone else who could have, should have been more fit for him, but it was Wonwoo. And Wonwoo just went along with it.

Wonwoo knows Junhui had family troubles. He didn’t ask questions, he wasn’t a very curious person, but he didn’t want to upset Junhui. He was okay with not knowing if it meant not giving Junhui some horrid flashbacks. He simply came to his own conclusions, but kept them to himself, of course.

The way Junhui worked was mysterious to Wonwoo but he liked watching from a distance. He was shy, without the hesitation. He knew, but at the same time, didn’t know at all, about the inner workings of Junhui’s mind.

Junhui plated the food and set them all down on the table before helping Wonwoo to his seat, taking the one right across from him.

“Do you need help?” Junhui asked softly. Wonwoo shook his head.

It was not out of character to have these hushed dinners, so Wonwoo thought nothing of it. He moved at an incredibly slow pace, however, and he could feel Junhui’s eyes on him. He ignored it as best he could, telling himself this pace was fine, and he will probably (not) feel better by the morning.

“Are you sure you don’t want some help? You look like you’re struggling.” Without waiting for an answer to the question, Junhui reached over and placed pieces of meat onto Wonwoo’s plate for him, scooping out some rice and then letting Wonwoo take over. Junhui looked Wonwoo up and down one last time, before finally moving his eyes onto his own plate.

“Wonwoo, tell me again what happened last night. What you told me this morning made no sense.” Junhui wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Wonwoo turned his head to the large windows, showcasing the setting sun over the buildings, just out of reach of theirs. The sky was purple, almost similar to the color that stained the skin over his ribcage.

“Everything I told you was what happened.” Wonwoo looked over to Junhui, who still wouldn’t look up. He was lit by the fading sunlight, Wonwoo loved to look at him in this lighting. Not a flaw on his face, even the light of the sunset belonged there. He inhaled and continued.

“There was a mask and invitation in that box and I went to the address. They wanted to kill me. They called me ‘the son’, which I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what they want with me, I don’t think this had anything to do with my father, he never mentioned anything like this in his days.” Wonwoo shrugged, which was an effort.

“Why couldn’t you just stay home? Why did you let curiosity get the best of you, you’ve never been like that?”

“Exactly. Can’t I let curiosity get the best of me sometimes?” Wonwoo tried to reason.

“And what, go to some place that you don’t even know existed and almost get killed?” Junhui’s words sat heavy, but Wonwoo noticed that his tone didn’t drip concern, it only soaked in that of pointing out factual evidence.

Wonwoo stared at Junhui. “You don’t seem all that worried about it.” He whispered, using his full voice took too much energy.

Junhui looked up at Wonwoo. “What? Of course, I worry. You could have gotten seriously hurt, more so than now.”

“You didn’t seem so concerned. You barely wanted to stay and help me this morning, rushing up to leave for school.”

“It was an important day, I couldn’t miss it.”

“Really?” Wonwoo pressed. Junhui stared.

“Are you doubting me?”

There was a crossroads here. Wonwoo knows he has never doubted anything Junhui did because Wonwoo knows that he is truthful in everything he says and does. On the other hand, down the other road, Wonwoo, as bad as it may sound for as long as they have been together, thinks this is the first time Junhui is untruthful to him. Wonwoo can see in his eyes that Junhui does not care about his state as deeply as Wonwoo wished he would.

Would Wonwoo ever lie to Junhui? No. He never had a reason to lie to him and keep the truth from him, he has no reason to pretend that something was alright even when it wasn’t. Wonwoo doesn’t lie to Junhui. But there is a first time for everything.

“No.” Wonwoo looked back down to his plate. “I’m just shaken up, still.”

Junhui watched Wonwoo. Wonwoo didn’t look up to meet his eye, but he knew that he was being stared at. He feels guilt drip down his throat, thick and viscous in his stomach and he can’t digest that feeling of regret. Instant regret. He sucked it up, how else would he be able to tell Junhui that he thought he wasn’t being genuine? By saying that, Wonwoo insinuates that he thinks Junhui doesn’t care about him. He was not crossing into that territory, at least, not when he’s fucked up on Vicodin.

“Go get some sleep, then.” Junhui’s voice floated through the room. “I’ll be up there later.”

It took much longer than anticipated, but he made it up the stairs, stopping for a breather at the railing by the window, looking out at the west horizon. The sun hadn’t started to set yet, but the sky was gray, filling Wonwoo’s chest with a similar feeling of oncoming rain, and misery, and darkness. He closed his eyes briefly, and walked away.

The mattress was like clouds caressing his body at every meeting point, and he was sure he would drift off before Junhui came upstairs. He was probably doing homework, which Wonwoo usually sits by him to keep him company when needed, but other obvious circumstances caused a change of plans.

When Junhui finally settled down next to him, he hoped that no conversation would strike, and he was blessed with that one good thing happening to him. He decided on waking up and blaming the Vicodin.

It’s been two days since Wonwoo went to work. He was told that his agent took care of everything, probably had someone take over who wanted that CEO position when Wonwoo first took it; he wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

He really hasn’t had any motivation to leave his bed, he sees no reason to. His muscles were still aching and his vision still spun whenever he tried to stand up, so he rested it out, waiting for the worst of days to pass on by.

Junhui had stuck by him for most of that time, making Wonwoo feel awful for doubting Junhui’s feelings toward Wonwoo, but it still lingered in the back of his mind whenever Wonwoo would groan in pain in the middle of the night, and Junhui wouldn’t turn over. It should make sense that he wouldn’t, because he was asleep, but Wonwoo knew he wasn’t. The boy never fell asleep that easily. It lingered in the back of his mind when Wonwoo would struggle to read something, cursing out loud, and Junhui would stay put, and be no assistance to him.

He noticed that with recent events passing, he has nightmares more often than he bargains for. He wakes up in the middle of the night gasping for air, in pain of course, his ribs can’t hold up his body weight so suddenly, seeing only the black and white image of someone standing over him, about to slam the heel of their shoe into his skull. He wakes up before impact.

The worst one he had so far was him on the ground, the abuser stood over him while everyone watched. Hesitantly, they reached into the pocket of their suit jacket, gripping something, and Wonwoo knew, he knew. They pulled out a gun, and Wonwoo could feel the sinking in his stomach, the utter dread, knowing he was going to die, but this time there was no escape.

They cocked the gun, held it at arm’s length, and Wonwoo was in a staring contest with the void of the barrel. Before the trigger was pulled, they ripped the mask off, and Wonwoo was face to face with Junhui. He woke up at the bang of the trigger being pulled.

He doesn’t believe in dream omens. If he dreams something bad, he doesn’t believe that that thing will happen in real life. It’s just a dream. Vivid imagination. His deepest fears brought to light. But something about that dream felt different. Felt real.

He doesn’t tell Junhui this. It would only raise Junhui’s suspicions more, and Wonwoo doesn’t need Junhui thinking that.

Just that thought, however, the thought of keeping that from Junhui, made him realize what he was stepping into. More and more, he held information from him, when the two were open books with each other. He doesn’t know when it became like this, but he is making no move to stop it. Junhui was becoming a mystery to him; a mystery he had no desire in reading.

The longer Wonwoo stays out of work, the less motivation he has to go back. Wonwoo has never been like this, always driven by the fact that his work was what kept him, and Junhui, on his feet, so he always felt like he needed to perform one hundred ten percent.

This motive was nowhere to be found as he was lying in bed for the fifth day in a row, nursing his black eyes back to health, and trying not to move because he for sure broke a rib.

Junhui deemed it okay for Wonwoo to be home alone, as he could move carefully when he needed to, and didn’t need his agent’s assistance to take him from the upstairs bedroom to the bathroom, or downstairs, but that was a task that Wonwoo avoided whenever the other man wasn’t home to assist with. As they were nearing closure of the first week since the incident, Junhui felt it was okay to leave Wonwoo, and that the man could fend for himself if absolutely need be.

And Wonwoo did feel fine. It was just twisting that gave him issues, but he could stand up just fine, his two feet worked and he could see significantly better than he could when he woke up the morning after.

Wonwoo was sick and tired of staring at his white ceiling, the sun made it all too bright to look at any longer and closing his eyes didn’t help, as he slept more over the last five days than he has in his whole life. He slowly rolled over, wincing when he applied pressure to his ribs, used his weak arms to lift him up, and stood up. He was dizzy, and felt like he could fall over at any given moment, but he steadied after a minute.

He tackled the stairs with ease, and felt relief once the soles of his feet hit the ground of the first floor, sighing at the fact that he wasn’t trapped up in that room any longer. He headed towards the kitchen, food in his mind, feeling like he could take on any meal given to him. He feels like he hasn’t eaten in months, which is odd, because Junhui has been feeding him home cooked meals every single night, but it seems to go right through his system.

Midway through raiding the refrigerator, he hears a knock at the front door. He stands up straight, staring off into the living room, as if it would intensify his hearing. The front door wasn’t within his view from the kitchen, and the trek he would have to take to get to it would take a while, hoping the person would get the hint.

He crossed a few potentials off of his list.

First, it wasn’t his agent. She had the key to his home and wouldn’t knock, figuring that Wonwoo would not get out of bed and make the ten-minute journey down to open the front door for her. If she had forgotten her key, which was unlikely, she would notify him much ahead of time. It couldn’t be her.

Second, it wasn’t Junhui. Junhui also had a key, and would do the same of notifying Wonwoo if he did ever forget his key, which, again, was unlikely.

There was no second set of knocking. Wonwoo crept over, careful in case the person behind the door was listening intently for any movement. Wonwoo turned the corner, light on his feet, and came closer and closer to the peephole through the door.

At this point, he knew he needed to be careful. If it wasn’t the only two people who would be most likely to come up to the fiftieth floor to see him, it was unlikely that this person had any good intent as there were no other residents on this floor, and if they were stopped at his door, it was for the sole purpose of confronting Wonwoo.

The thing was, too, that Wonwoo wasn’t usually home on Saturdays. Junhui was the one that was home, but their roles were reversed today as Wonwoo was sat home while Junhui ran errands, so this person could have been for Junhui, but that too was unlikely, as if Junhui were expecting someone, he would tell Wonwoo ahead of time. He took a deep breath in, and inched himself closer and closer to the peephole.

The person he saw was not someone he recognized, not at all. They stood there with shoulder length hair, parted neatly down the middle, falling on both sides of their face. They seemed to be staring off in any direction, but they continued to face the door. It seemed like they were waiting for something, someone, that they knew was there. Wonwoo was, and he could only assume this person was waiting for him.

The person stood there, unmoving, a look in his eyes like he knew there was someone watching him from behind the door. Like this person knew Wonwoo was standing there.

Wonwoo was about to move away when the person’s right hand moved out from the inside of their jacket, and pulled out a white object. It was undiscernible for a moment, and then when it was twisted it in their hands, he recognized it. A mask. He saw this mask, from that night at the underground of the museum. It was the mask that was hiding the face of the man on stage, the one that gave all instructions, the one that revealed Wonwoo as ‘the son’. This was the face behind the mask, this was the man.

When he put two and two together, he couldn’t help but inhale sharply, too loud, and although Wonwoo pays a lot to live in the penthouse suite, he knows that the quality of the front door isn’t exactly top tier material. He knew that with the vacancy of the hallway and the lack of noise coming from inside the house, the man heard Wonwoo.

It wasn’t only Wonwoo’s gut instinct that was telling him that he heard, it was the fact that right after he gasped, the man’s line of sight went from somewhere off to the right to directly into the peephole, like he could see through the door itself and made eye contact with Wonwoo.

He cocked an eyebrow, and while Wonwoo should have started running already, he stood there, watching. The man carefully placed the mask onto his face, giving Wonwoo a pit feeling in his stomach, feeling like he was back in the thick crowd of that gathering, he didn’t even know what word to use anymore to refer to it. Again, he was standing in the sea of people, again, he was watching the person on the stage, again, he was being revealed, attacked, a victim of attempted murder. Some sort of organized crime.

He reached into his inner jacket pocket once more, so slowly, Wonwoo’s eyes following the movement of his hand and arm. He dragged it outward, Wonwoo’s chest feeling like he was going to explode any minute, and he knew in that instant that he should turn away and run as fast as he could no matter how much pain it gave him. He could die right now; this man could finish what Wonwoo didn’t let the attendees finish.

When he withdrew his hand, Wonwoo knew this was it for him. Junhui would come home and find him dead in their house, and the police would come, and it would be some kind of string of tragic events where the son inherits the late father’s CEO position and then gets killed himself. His mother would be there mourning the loss of two men from her life and it would be great, then the CEO would go to someone who wanted it more than Wonwoo, but was less deserving. This was what he saw when the man pulled a revolver from his jacket pocket.

Now, once he held the grip firmly in his hands and aimed it at the peephole, Wonwoo turned around and bolted. He ran as far and as strongly as he could in his state to avoid getting shot, and he ducked to the floor and slid when he heard a blast, a metallic bang, and knew that the peephole wasn’t shot, but the doorknob was. Wonwoo had been exposed to firearms and their impact throughout his life thanks to his father, and he knew that the door had just been shot open thanks to the (at the time) unnecessary skill training from his father.

He dared to look over his shoulder and saw that his door had, in fact, been shot open. The doorknob was missing and the door itself was standing open wide, and the man who was once behind it was now over Wonwoo, no shame in the gun that was pointed directly at Wonwoo’s skull. He closed his eyes and braced for impact, knowing he was going to die.

A second went by and he was confused as to why he hadn’t been shot, so he opened his eyes and looked up, the man did not lower his weapon but instead crouched down next to Wonwoo, staring menacingly, and almost mockingly.

“Nice escape you made the other night.” Like the mask, his voice made Wonwoo feel those awful emotions all over again, and fear was pooling in his stomach. “Too bad all of those people won’t be able to see the end I’m about to put to this.”

Before he could even stand to his feet again, the man was grabbed by the back of his jacket and onto his feet. He started to put up a fight until he saw who had thrown him backwards, and honestly, Wonwoo was shocked as well.

Junhui pulled the man up and back, so now Junhui was standing in between the man and Wonwoo who hadn’t moved from the floor.

Realization hit the man in the face and he desperately tried to barge through Junhui to get back to Wonwoo.

“What are you doing? Let me get in there!” He tried to run forward, but Junhui pushed in the opposite direction, barring him from getting any closer. “Move, Junhui!”

It struck Wonwoo that Junhui knew this person, and the first and only question that he could formulate in this moment was ‘why?’.

“Stop, you don’t want to do this.” Junhui reasoned, and then quickly added: “Not here.” This sent a pang to Wonwoo’s chest, knowing the implications of those words, knowing what message sat behind them.

“Junhui, let me do this! Let me at him!” The man fought against Junhui, but Junhui didn’t budge. He suddenly halted his movements and stared at Junhui. “Or do you want to? You wanted this, too, Junhui, you take care of him since you seem to have followed me all the way here.”

Junhui didn’t say anything, still blocking the man from Wonwoo, who hadn’t moved out of pain.

“Get out of here. Don’t ask fucking questions.” Junhui shoved the man out of the door and followed him down the hallway. Wonwoo could hear chatter but it was too distant by the time it started for him to discern what he was hearing. He laid there, unable to process what had just happened. But he knew the facts, and those were that a man shot his door open, almost killed him, knew Junhui, and for some reason Junhui knew the person that was trying to kill him. The man said something about Junhui wanting this, too. Did Junhui want Wonwoo dead? There were a million and one questions now forming that all the action was over, and he didn’t know which one to address first.

He had hoisted himself up to sit, slumped over, staring at the floor now. Part of him was not motivated to move even an inch, he could not bring himself to try to lift himself off the floor. He sat, and waited, but what he was waiting for was the real question.

Junhui walked back in, Wonwoo could see his feet from where he was standing. He moved his eyes upward to look at Junhui but no more than that, staying in the exact same position. Junhui just turned and looked at the door, while Wonwoo searched his face.

Junhui gulped. “Do you know someone who can fix the door?” He asked. “You should call them.” Junhui shut the door, as if it was going to help their current situation, turned, and walked away. Wonwoo stayed sat, and was about to move when he heard the footsteps come back, and he faced his head in that direction.

“Do you need help?” Junhui muttered from twenty feet away. Wonwoo said nothing for a second, gauged his current situation, and nodded meekly. He let Junhui lift him by the underarms and bring him carefully up the stairs, no words shared between the two. He laid Wonwoo down in the bed, and he sunk into the warmth of the sheets, wishing the gentle feeling could ease his sorrows. He knew all too well it would do the opposite of that.

“I’ll be in bed later.” Junhui whispered as he exited the room and shut the door gently behind him. Junhui never came to bed that night.

The sky was not a friendly greeting the next morning, but rather a pain to Wonwoo’s eyes, and he knew rolling over wouldn’t solve any of the problems.

With stronger legs than the many days before, he brought himself to the kitchen, the cold air bringing bumps to his skin, but he ignored it, knowing it would solve no current issue to put more clothes on.

Junhui was nowhere to be found. He said he would come to bed and the man was a no show, and now he seems to have disappeared. It wasn’t a mystery that needed intense research to figure out, however. Wonwoo knows what he heard and Junhui knew that he heard it. How was he to explain that? What explanation could there be that wouldn’t make Wonwoo nauseous.

Thinking about all of these events, and the most recent one made Wonwoo feel like there was no way that this could end where both he and Junhui are happy. There was no ending to this situation where Junhui and he stayed together. It wasn’t plausible. Wonwoo knew he was going to see this to the end, and the end was very close.

He came to many conclusions on his own, but it was just what his brain threw together within milliseconds, only because he could not bring himself to put any more thought into this. The only thing he thought of, and knew, for a fact, was that Junhui knew the person that was trying to kill Wonwoo. This sent a multitude of questions pouring out of the cavities in his brain, bringing circumstances to light that he never wanted to see with his own two eyes.

If Junhui knew the person trying to kill Wonwoo, why did Junhui not say anything? Junhui must know this person well enough to have been speaking to them like that, so Junhui would’ve been let in on the plans, yet he held his mouth. Junhui didn’t even attempt to save Wonwoo; sure, he did before he was about to get shot, but there could have been more reasons that he saved him.

One being that there were still residents below them that could have heard the gunshot, another being that Junhui probably would have preferred for there not to be bloodstains on the floor, but Wonwoo hopes that that reason wasn’t the driving factor.

As hard as he tries to push it out of his mind, there was really nothing else to think about, and he could really only ponder ever single reason thought up, even the craziest ones, just to put his wandering imagination to rest.

His eyes burned the longer he kept them open, knowing that if he kept this subject on his mind any longer, he would drive himself mad. It couldn’t be helped, but he would much prefer if these thoughts of his boyfriend wanting to kill him wouldn’t cross his mind every five seconds.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to work in about a week now, and once he could get out of bed by himself and feel only a strain in his ribcage, he decided it was time for him to head back and run that place. His black eye had faded to a mere yellow ring around his eye socket, and while it wasn’t ideal, it was tolerable. He knew he would get stares and he knew those employees comfortable enough would question it, but he didn’t care enough to cover it.

As expected, it was exactly what happened, and when the employees observed that he had difficulty moving certain directions, they put two and two together, and he had people ask him if he was in a car accident, fell down a particularly large set of stairs, or was part of a fight club. All of those answers were preferable over what really happened, but of course he wasn’t going to start telling everyone that an underground organization was trying to avenge the death of his father by killing him. Apparently.

Work was relaxing to Wonwoo, usually it is, but at this time it was more so as he had been cooped up in that penthouse for longer than he could stand. Typically, it would be one’s dream to stay a week in solitude in a penthouse above a fifty-story building, but Wonwoo lived there daily, for the last three years. He needed to get out a bit more.

Heading home was always a drag for him, knowing he would have to go back and sit in that empty apartment by himself, staring at the same walls he stared at for the last week straight.

A bright cartoon pumpkin stamped onto the envelope greeted him when he pulled his mail out of the slot. There was no return address, and there wasn’t even a sending address, just the pumpkin on this plain white envelope. He flipped it over in his hands multiple times, as if it was going to reveal itself, open itself up to show its contents, but it was just an envelope with a pumpkin on it. He held it by his side with the rest of the mail, figuring it was a dumb Halloween party invitation from the family on his mother’s side.

He unlocked the door, feeling too familiar with the layout in front of him. For the past week, he became accustomed to every corner and every square inch of his home, and being back in it after a day, he felt like he never left.

He threw the mail onto the counter and proceeded to rip the binding of the pumpkin envelope, leaning against the countertop with an elbow. Wonwoo could already see the little Halloween party that his family would throw, with all of his small cousins running around in their costumes portraying their favorite video game characters, or book characters, or just looking like a mess. He quirked a smile at the thought.

There was no print on the front of the plain white card when he opened it. This struck Wonwoo as strange, as he knew there would be a picture of his cousins on the front, like there always is, but it was just blank cardstock. He flipped it over, seeing nothing, like whomever sent this out to him had just folded a piece of paper and stuck it in there. He opened it.

‘You’re invited’ was written on the top of the left side in big, black writing. It stood out to Wonwoo right away, his eyes drawn to it as it was the biggest thing on the card itself. Other than that, there was smaller text at the bottom of the right side, and he brought it closer to his face to read it.

‘Halloween bash’ was the first thing written down, and he scrunched his eyebrows wondering why his family sent out such a strange invitation this year. He was in the midst of wondering why this was when his eyes landed upon the address, knowing immediately that the address was not that of anybody in his family, and then in the middle of wondering that, he recognized it. The address was the museum.

His heart stopped and he dropped the envelope at once, his hands shaking. He wanted to back away from it, as if the envelope was capable of hurting him, but he was frozen in place, he could not move a muscle. Wonwoo’s eyes grazed the invitation, blinking rapidly, hoping that this was some kind of mistake, hoping that this was all a mix up, hoping it was a dream. It had to be one of those fever dreams, he has had a few of them since the incident and they seem all too real, so he spends a good amount of time trying to convince himself that this was a dream. He blinked. And blinked again. One more time. This was not a fever dream.

He stood up straight and looked around, as if the man who barged in a few days ago was going to appear from behind the sofa and stab him in the chest, ending this whole feud. A feud that he didn’t know started, why it was happening, or how it will end.

He wanted to call Junhui and demand answers. This is the second time he has received an invitation with that address on it, and the first time nearly killed him, and if the man who forced into their home and almost shot Wonwoo to death knew who Junhui was, he should have answers. Wonwoo knew, though, if he called Junhui and asked what the fuck was going on, the man would say nothing, insisting he doesn’t know. That has been his attitude lately.

He didn’t want to call Junhui. He knew that would be a bad idea on the off chance that Junhui did confess everything to him over the phone, and then what would Wonwoo do about that? Go on the rest of his day knowing that Junhui was somehow linked to the people plotting his murder? Maybe he just knew that person, maybe he had nothing to do with it. Wonwoo hoped that was the case, but at the same time, Junhui hadn’t been home since that incident. He doesn’t know where Junhui is, but all he knew was that every night he fell asleep and woke up alone.

Halloween was in two days. Based on the weekly occurrences, Junhui probably was not going to come back home in that time. He could make another potentially dangerous decision, or he could stay alive.

If Junhui wasn’t going to come back, it gave off the message that he didn’t care about Wonwoo. If he didn’t care about Wonwoo, he wouldn’t be concerned about his safety if he went. So, Wonwoo decided, he would go, and he would turn the tables. End them before they could end him.

The days at work leading up to Halloween, Wonwoo couldn’t sit still, itching to get home, itching for Halloween to come already. It was questionable to Wonwoo himself, why he was so eager for this event to come knowing they might succeed in their mission this time around.

Wonwoo knew well enough that they were very capable of killing him. He knew this very well, if the fact that he was staring a gun in the eyes a few days ago meant anything. They wanted him dead and he knew it, and going there, it could go one of many ways.

They could ambush him. They might say fuck it and not even wait for a cue from the leader, and just start beating him again as soon as he walks in. That would immediately be game over. Wonwoo would have no time to prepare.

The leader could spot him and shoot him on sight. Wonwoo couldn’t see shit through that mask that they sent him, and he didn’t have a different one to wear. He was shocked at how he managed to get it back, when he woke up the following morning and the mask was tucked neatly into the suit that was in a heap on his floor. He didn’t question it, although he should have. With this mask, would not be able to see the leader approach him, potentially take out his gun and shoot him square in the chest. That would also be game over.

He could win. There was only one outcome where Wonwoo won this. He put all of his odds onto that ending, thinking of no ‘what ifs’ and focused on his target. He would need to do it quickly. He was going to bring his own weapon, he would need to shoot the leader, and get out as quickly as he can in case anyone else in that room were to be armed. He wanted to think it was unlikely, but anything could happen. Anything. He could die.

When that night finally rolled around, he felt nerves flowing throughout all of his veins, not knowing the outcome of tonight, but having courage for one of the many.

The night of Halloween was slowly falling, and the sun was making its way to sit below the horizon. Wonwoo was alone, as per usual. He hadn’t seen Junhui’s face in a few days, slowly, and regrettably, getting used to him not being around. He had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t be returning tonight, either.

Wonwoo turned and looked out the grand windows, seeing the sky turn deep purple. He blinked slowly and lifted himself from the bar stool, making his way to the utility closet.

To the unknowing eye, the only thing in this closet was the washer and dryer, some brooms, plastic bags, and other things necessary to a home but were an eyesore. To Wonwoo, and Junhui knew this also, there was a panel of wood propped up in the corner, next to the washing machine; it had to be half Wonwoo’s height and it was covered by the vacuum and space heater that they store there in the summertime. He cleared the path of any blocking items and gripped the edge of the panel and pulled it forward, ripping the temporary bindings from off of the wall, revealing a crawlspace that, if Wonwoo could remember correctly, was used as a cat’s hideout from the previous owners. The two didn’t bring a cat into their home, so Wonwoo simply put the board into place, knowing the space was useless.

A year after the two moved in, he found it a good spot to put his gun case, knowing of nowhere in the house he could store it besides this. This was the emergency one, and he knew there was only one other one in the house, behind the piping in the upstairs bathroom sink. He hoped that one remained, he didn’t bother to check. Luckily, this gun hadn’t moved in the past two years. They had set up the unspoken rule that that firearm was only there in case of a severe emergency, and when Wonwoo peeled the board back, he saw it still sat in the same exact position, collecting dust.

He pulled the case forward, wiping the dust from the top leaving a streak of clean leather in its wake. He clicked the metal buckles open, inspecting the inside. The gun was sitting firmly in the shaped foam, ammo nestled right next to it. He went to grab it, stopped short, and really thought about this. If this went right tonight, he may be killing someone. Everyone knows who he is, and if he is successful they could easily turn him in and have many witnesses to back it up. Then again, if they turned him in, they would also be somewhat of an accessory to murder, as many of them there had attempted to kill Wonwoo the previous night. It was a 50/50 situation. Wonwoo didn’t know how things would turn out until he just did it.

Withdrawing the gun, it was cold in his hand but he didn’t have time to marvel at it, he simply grabbed it and took it with him upstairs and into the room. He assumed the party would be the same kind of attire since there was no indication otherwise, so he adorned a similar suit as the first one. The first one was regrettably destroyed by the harsh treatment given to him, but it was barely a dent in his wallet to buy another nice one, so he didn’t hesitate.

After he neatly buttoned up his white shirt, he equipped himself with his shoulder holster, sliding the gun cleanly into place, and covering it up with the suit jacket. He gazed at his reflection. He felt a little bigger than he actually was, ego wise, knowing that he was concealing a weapon. He took a deep breath. He weighed the pros and cons. He thought about Junhui. No, he couldn’t think about Junhui. He was going to end this.

The walk up to the museum’s back entrance was just as he remembered it being, with the guards there letting people in beforehand. Luckily, he wasn’t underdressed nor overdressed, and it was still black-tie apparel. Sliding on his mask, sitting it in place, he walked up to the entrance and handed over the invitation. Again, they shared a look, and let him through.

This time, Wonwoo didn’t waste time by looking at the strange metallic passageway of spiral stairs that lead down to fucking Hell, he descended every step and hesitated on none. He reached the door and he could feel his heart in his throat. One more step.

He pushed open the door. There was a purple light filling the room, and he swore someone even brought a goddamn smoke machine to this, like it was an elementary costume party. He looked around at everyone in their fancy suits and masks. He gulped. Now or never.

This time, he knew what the place looked like. He didn’t waste his fucking time in staring at the ceiling and being enraptured by the art and the atmosphere. He walked towards the stage, but stayed in the crowd. He stood still; he didn’t move.

The music cut off. He could have sworn he almost threw up in that moment. The leader took to the stage. The Phantom of the Opera mask snug on his face and his long hair was pulled into a ponytail now, but Wonwoo could see right through that. He saw his face, he doesn’t know the name, but facial recognition was enough. At least, he hoped it was.

He tapped hard on the microphone and spread his arms and everyone retreated. Wonwoo stayed still. He knew how this went. He knew all eyes were on him and he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, but the destruction that reigned in the left side of his holster sure did.

The man on stage said nothing. He hopped down, taking steps closer to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo could feel the anxiety bubbling, threatening to spill over. He tightened the lid, and faced this head on. The footsteps on the marble floor was echoing, a deafening ringing in his ears, a sign of life or death. He saw the second person stand up on stage and walk down also, but Wonwoo could not follow his movements any longer as the leader had come to stand right in front of Wonwoo. In one quick motion, he reached up, grabbed the side of his mask and yanked it off of his face, Wonwoo’s head following the action.

The leader stared at him with disgust, at least, that’s what Wonwoo read it as from the one eye he could see through his mask. He stared at him for another second, the second pair of footsteps didn’t render to him. The leader opened his mouth, about to yell something, but Wonwoo took a step back, reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the gun. He didn’t need to look to make sure the safety was off, and that it was already loaded, he had taken care of that before leaving the house.

He aimed it at the leader, steady gaze, confidence seeping out through him. There were murmurs in the crowd, but gasps broke out when the second person, whom Wonwoo assumed to be the second-hand leader, took the spot in front of the leader and drew a gun of his own.

There was shuffling, a scream, whispers, but neither of the two moved, a standoff, and the leader simply sat back and watched. He perched over his right-hand man’s shoulder. Wonwoo stared at this man through his mask, his identity concealed. He could see down the barrel, but it did not waver how confidently he held the gun at arms’ length, ready to shoot.

The leader started laughing. It was a maniacal laugh, like he knew this was Wonwoo’s downfall. Wonwoo started to feel like that, also.

“Be wary. Betrayal knows no limits.” Wonwoo scoffed.

“You speak in fucking riddles. It makes no sense.” He did not drop eye contact with the other man. The leader brought his hand up to his face slowly, and his fingers danced along the edge of his mask. He watched as the man’s chest rose and collapsed in what looked like a sob. Wonwoo piqued an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Be wary. You never know who is holding a knife to your throat.” He ripped the mask off the other person.

Bitter betrayal seeped quickly down his spine at the sight, followed by heartbreak, and anger. Bile rose in his throat, and he could feel the want to scream itching at his throat. He caged it all in. He was not going to react how he wanted him to.

Junhui stood there, tears running down his face, pointing a gun directly at Wonwoo’s chest.

Wonwoo’s arms went weak and he lowered his weapon, staring Junhui in the eyes. Junhui did not lower his arms.

“Junhui…” Wonwoo murmured. Junhui shook his head, sniffling hard, the tears still falling. The leader stepped back, let this battle fight itself. “Why?”

“I have to.” He spoke through his tears.

“No, you don’t.” Wonwoo reasoned.

Junhui shook his head. “This was the ultimate goal. I can’t turn back now.” He sniffed again. “There’s no returning point for us. Not after this.”

“Junhui, stop.”

“No!” Junhui yelled, and his voice bounced off the walls.

“Tell me why. Why, Junhui, just tell me.” Wonwoo pleaded. He was starting to grow afraid, but he could not let Junhui see this. “Why is this all necessary? Why does everyone want me dead? That explanation would suffice!” Wonwoo yelled into the crowd, but he stayed facing Junhui.

“Wiping out your line. Your father was first and I only vowed to take out the son.” Junhui kept crying. “I didn’t know it would be you.”

“My father?” Wonwoo questioned. “My father died in a car crash. He was not murdered.”

The leader laughed loudly, letting Junhui sob alone. “Is that what you think? Is that what you’ve been conditioned to know?” Wonwoo shook his head in confusion. “Your father screwed the majority of us over, so we vowed revenge. Some of us impacted more heavily than others.” The leader nudged Junhui unkindly, and the an only sobbed harder.

“My father was not a corrupt man, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The leader laughed again, threw his head back this time. “Corrupt was all your father identified as. Don’t you know? The money stolen that was supposed to be ours? Those insured? He kept it for himself. He screwed everyone in this room over, and I think it’s quite funny that you have not a single idea of how you were raised into the wealth.” The leader was all up in Wonwoo’s face now, Wonwoo was making eye contact with him but his body stayed facing Junhui, who remained in the same position.

“And Junhui here…” He backed up and stroked Junhui’s face, the man flinched. “His family was reliant on your father’s company to give back to them. After the disaster, you know the one, right?” The leader cocked his head, and a sick smile started to form on his face. “When Junhui’s sister killed herself, and his family practically had no money to pay for the funeral expenses, and when the sadness and guilt of driving someone to suicide was building in his mother’s chest, she had a heart attack and died?” The leader had his arm around Junhui’s shoulder, the man continued to cry. Wonwoo stared in disbelief. He was never told any of this by Junhui, and he wanted to doubt it, but by the way that Junhui was reacting, he couldn’t doubt it at all.

“Your father was supposed to supply them with the expenses. He gave the smallest percentage. Kept the rest for himself. Your father was a liar, and a corrupt business man, and he stole from his family, leading them into debt, until he met you, I suppose. But he never told me that.”

Wonwoo shook his head. He wanted to say something, but almost anything he would say would prove him right. The shock of finding out about his father sat heavy in his chest, but he was sure the bullet would sit heavier, soon.

“Junhui needed the help. You came along, gave him the money, he never spoke of it, all done. We had to get rid of your father. We had to, don’t ask questions. And now, you are next in line.”

Wonwoo stared at Junhui, wishing that the man would shake his head and say it was untrue. Wishing that all of this could blow over and neither of them would talk about it again. He knew, deep in his chest, that that could never be true. They would not be the same, dare he say it, they would never see each other again after this. Wonwoo could not do it. Wonwoo could not shoot Junhui. No matter what, he could not do it.

Junhui’s chest racked with sobs, the tears still falling, still holding the gun. Wonwoo lowered his arms and slowly kneeled to place the gun on the floor. He stood back up. He was weaponless. He stared at Junhui, and spread his arms.

“Go ahead, Junhui.”

Wonwoo didn’t want to put up a fight. For the past three years, Wonwoo loved Junhui, and hell, he still might, even when he knew he was about to shoot him. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t need a reason to live any longer when Junhui had been plotting his death practically since they met.

Wonwoo locked eyes with Junhui. The other man opened his mouth, bit his lip, and Wonwoo was forced backwards by the impact of a bullet, the pain blossoming out from his shoulder. He collapsed to the ground, he could feel himself gasping for air, but the pain was driving him unconscious. His eyes closed slowly, and the last thing he registered was Junhui falling to his knees in despair.

Wonwoo, too, felt like he was falling. His chest rose and fall and with every movement he felt burning all throughout his body. He was falling deeper and deeper, and there was nothing around him to hold on to. The fall was endless. He thought for a split second, he might not ever stop falling.

Junhui falling to his knees was the last memory he had when he woke up on the hospital bed whenever he regained consciousness.

He didn’t need to sit up and look around to piece together where he was. He hadn’t visited the hospital many times, but it wasn’t a hard place to recognize. He sat still, listening, adjusting his eyes, letting his body become conscious as to what he as feeling. He could feel his pulse all through his veins, at his fingertips to his toes. His throat was starch dry and it burned to open his eyes all the way, his head throbbed like it was going to explode from the inside, but he didn’t move. He didn’t fight it.

He could feel pressure in his left shoulder. He could feel pain if he even tried to move, so he laid still, listening to the sounds, trying to ignore his own breathing.

Wonwoo knew what was going on. He knew he was alone in the hospital because his boyfriend shot him, but it wasn’t a fatal shot. Did Junhui do that on purpose? It’s possible. Did Junhui do it because he had no choice? He sure as hell did have a choice, but Junhui was right. If he didn’t shoot, him the two would never be the same. It was hard to deny that. He didn’t want to ponder the possibilities. He knew Junhui could have killed him if he wanted to.

He figured out quickly that he could move his head left and right, and he maneuvered to scope out the place. There was a stand to the right of him, a lamp, a vase of flowers, close to dying, and a folded piece of paper, sitting in a tent on the flat top. His right arm was free and mobile if he didn’t need to stretch his whole body to get at it, and so he carefully reached and pinched the top fold with his forefinger and thumb.

With his one free hand, he flipped it open. There was a mere two lines written down, and no signature, but he didn’t need a name to know who this was from.

‘Bullet wounds heal fast, I hear. I hope your heart can, too.’

He closed the card and set it back on the table. In that moment, he was sure that was true, eventually he would be physically healed and he will also be emotionally healed. Right now, he knew for sure, his heart hurt more than his bullet wound.

**Author's Note:**

> soooo i had a poll on my twitter, choosing either life or death (not knowing which was which) and life won, so congrats cause wonwoo does not die! im sure i would have a lot of angry people in my comments if i did that lol. hope u enjoyed it :3


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